


Londoner Subjugates Ranch in Hill Country

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Don't Ever Change [8]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fangirls, Gen, Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Texas, Tour Guide Tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is the part, in a perfect world, where you’d be stunned into silence by the appearance of one Thomas William Hiddleston,” I tell her, enjoying the puzzled expression on her face. “However, because I’m a twit, I left him at the airport in the wee hours of the morning for an extended period, made him come back to my apartment where Basil the Barkapotamous barked in his face because she doesn’t like him for some unknown reason and now he’s passed out cold in the backseat of the 4Runner.”<br/>Pamela’s eyes go wide and she appears to have stopped breathing.</p><p>“Thus, not here to shock the socks off of you!” I finish, doing a ta-da motion with my hands. </p><p>Pamela stares blankly at me. It’s like I’m speaking Greek or something to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Londoner Subjugates Ranch in Hill Country

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

“No! Don’t do that! Why did you do that?”

“Because it’s the way to get to—” 

“NO! We’re getting Pamela not going to HEB!”

Silence.

“I’ll be able to get off.”

“Next exit is Kitty Hawk. That is passed the hotel,” Door said in a flat voice.

“When did you become an expert on the highways of the area? You’re afraid to drive,” Jason accused.

“I DRIVE!” 

Tom did not bother to pry his eyelids open as the two argued. He was basking in being in a bark free environment. 

“Oh, look! There goes the hotel! Wheeee! Oh, look, next exit is Kitty Hawk! I win!”

Jason hummed.

Door let out an exasperated noise.

The car slowed down, getting off the motorway. 

“Use the whoop around! Don’t make a left hand turn! Whoop around!” Door shouted.

Tom felt the car slow further, then take a sharp turn. Still, he did not bother to open his eyes, but allowed his mind to drift off, a small smile on his lips as he let images of Pamela’s surprised face fill his head. 

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

_Dorothea_

Tom decided to visit the land of Nod. 

I have a slumbering Tom Hiddleston in the backseat of my car and I cannot wake him up.

How the hell do you fall asleep on a ten minute car ride?

Well, unless you’re a baby. They fall asleep on ten minute car rides— or so I am told. I’ve yet to have access to a baby long enough to test the theory.

No one in their right mind would give me a baby. A few foolish people have given me their child and left me alone with said child for an extended period of time without any parental supervision. 

I wondered about their sanity while said child and I proceed to play with flutter and Gorilla glue, had My Little Pony and troll wars and basically made a huge mess while singing the latest and most annoying pop song I could think of. 

I think most people assume I’d get along great with kids because people view me as “fun.” I doubt anyone thought it was fun to clean up flutter. (Have you ever Gorilla glued flutter to your hands? It take WEEKS to come off.) 

“Just go get her,” Jason says, sounding vexed. “Let him sleep. You’re the one who left him stranded at the airport for almost two hours.”

“And you’re the one who slept through Barkamagedon,” I snap.

We’re all running on little sleep. And by we, I mean Tom and myself. Jason slept for almost twelve hours straight.

We hate Jason. 

Leaving Tom sleeping like a baby, I slam the door and head up the stairs to the room Pamela lives within. I knock on the door, waiting for her to answer. 

“I wore the shirt you wanted,” she says by way of greeting when she flings the door open. 

“This is the part, in a perfect world, where you’d be stunned into silence by the appearance of one Thomas William Hiddleston,” I tell her, enjoying the puzzled expression on her face. “However, because I’m a twit, I left him at the airport in the wee hours of the morning for an extended period, made him come back to my apartment where Basil the Barkapotamous barked in his face because she doesn’t like him for some unknown reason and now he’s passed out cold in the backseat of the 4Runner.”

Pamela’s eyes go wide and she appears to have stopped breathing.

“Thus, not here to shock the socks off of you!” I finish, doing a ta-da motion with my hands. 

Pamela stares blankly at me. It’s like I’m speaking Greek or something to her. 

“Please tell me you’re pulling my leg,” she whispers. 

“Nope. Tom Hiddleston in my backseat asleep,” I report, smiling. 

“Why?”

“Because he’s sleep deprived?”

“No, what’s he doing in San Antonio?”

“Uh, he’s madly in love with you and wanted to see you again?” I offer, unsure why she is still peering at me as if I’m speaking in Icelandic.  

“No.”

“Pamela Jane Fitch, he is. Accept it and move on. It’s totally adorable,” I say, putting my hands on my hips and giving her a firm look. “I know you’re trying to be logical and whatever about this, but drop it. He is utterly into you and it’s almost sicking. Okay, no it’s not. It’s utterly sweet. He likes you! He really likes you!”

I dance back and forth on my toes while she stares at me like I’ve got ten heads. I stop dancing. 

I shouldn’t dance. I’m amazed I didn’t trip over my own feet during that little dance. 

“He doesn’t know me! He saw…he knew…I wasn’t me over there!”

I sag a little and give her a look I hope informs her she’s a moron. 

“You were you for the most part,” I tell her. “I mean, he didn’t see you are an utter neat freak or that you wake at the crack of dawn to run your little heart to death, but you were you that first day likely. A little spacey, but you’re always a little spacey when you’re off your sleep schedule.”

“I am not.”

I roll my eyes at her. 

“What is he doing here?” she asks, holding the door frame tightly in one hand and the door open with the other. 

“I told you. He wanted to see you. In your natural environment!” I cry, flinging my arms out to the side. “See, now he can see the real Pamela! Not the…jet lagged, just slept on a park bench in Paris Pamela!”

“I can’t—DEL RIO!”

“You can’t Del Rio?” I ask, feeling bewildered.

I glance down the stairs at the still running 4Runner. If Jason was rude and impatient, he’d be honking, but Jason isn’t like that. He’s impatient, but he’s too polite to honk in public. (Seriously, he never honks his horn, even when people try to kill him on the roads.) 

“DEL RIO!” Pamela shouts.

“Is in the middle of nowhere,” I say, getting more befuddled. “And kinda boring. It lacks a proper mall, a fabric store and last time I was there it lacked an actual drug store, but I heard they built a Walgreens!”

“It’s another world! Thomas doesn’t exist in that world! He’s…he’s….he’s Tom Muthafracking Hiddleston!”

I stare at her for a moment blankly. “Tom can exist in Del Rio. I heard they even filmed a movie near Del Rio once. Or maybe twice. Jessica Alba lived there for awhile! It was before she was famous—”

“No!” Pamela shouts, looking as if she’s going to punch me in the face. “Benedict understood, why can’t you?”

“I live on Mars part-time, so I never understand you Earthlings,” I tell her. “Jason’s got the car running because it’s stupid Texas hot out here now and you know how you don’t like to kill the planet?”

“Yeah?”

“The 4Runner kills the planet, so you might want to follow me to the car. Maybe you can wake up Tom?”

“I don’t want to wake up Thomas!” she hisses at me, but thankfully exits the room and shuts the door.

Note: Pamela has taken to calling him by his full name. This means she likes him, as if she didn’t care, she’s be calling him Tom, since that was likely what he told her to call him and what he’s professionally known as. She calls everyone by their full name (except me as I force her to call me Door). It’s this weird thing with her— she doesn’t shorten people’s names she likes. Maybe in hopes they’ll never call her anything except Pamela? 

I look down at Pamela (she’s short, I’m not. I always thought I was short until I “joined the Air Force” and felt like a giant around all the other wives and suddenly had to face up to the fact I had abnormally tall friends my entire life). Pamela is sportting the navy blue shirt I requested, the one I got her for her birthday last year. It’s got FITCH printed on it in big, white letters with a few rhinestones. Totally not something Pamela would wear, but since meeting her it amuses me to see her in shirts with her last name on them from the store that bears our last names. (Well, my married last name. No one prints JUDOC on t-shirts and sells them in stores for outrageous prices.) 

I am, of course, wearing a t-shirt that has ABERCROMBIE printed across it in huge letters and sparkles. It’s also got a football, which is totally my thing. I love football. (Hence why everyone thinks I’d love Texas due to the entire state’s love affair with the sport. They all play professional football inside on fake grass. You do not play REAL football inside on FAKE grass! You gotta play on GRASS and OUTSIDE in all sorts of weather. Like the Bears. And the Packers. And yes, I like the Packers and am also a Bears fan. My husband claims I can’t do that, but I DO WHAT I WANT.) 

“He ought to sleep,” Pamela goes on, staring down the stairs at the 4Runner like a scared mouse. “He’s really here?”

“He’s really here. I’d know. I forgot to pick him up at the airport this morning,” I remind her. “I screamed at Ben this morning. Crap. I ought to apologize for that.”

“Why did you scream at Benedict?”

“I called him because I figured he’d be awake,” I admit. “Come on. Let’s kill the planet by going to Boerne.”

Pamela sighs, but follows me down the stairs. She approaches the car and opens up the back door behind the driver and peers into the car as I get in on the other side. Tom is in the seat behind me, still zonked out. The look on Pamela’s face as she stares at him is priceless. I almost want to take a picture of it and frame it. It would be called PAMELA IN LOVE. (Well, it’d be called something more creative than that, but I’m working on little sleep.) 

“You getting in?” I ask her, raising my eyebrows.

“I hate you,” she mutters without effort and climbs into the car. She slams the door as hard as she can, peaking at Tom under her lashes, but he doesn’t rouse. 

He simply sleeps on.

Tom Hiddleston is clearly a professional sleeper like Jason.

* * *

The ride to Boerne (it’s pronounced like Bernie, not Boe-urn like how I wanted to say it when I first saw it spelled on the weather map) is almost silent— except for my singing. Tom is napping likes it’s about to go out of style, Jason isn’t not a chatty person, and Pamela is too busy staring at Tom out of the corner of her eye to carry on a conversation. Not that I care. I’m perfectly content to sing along uninterrupted. 

We reach the ranch that Dan’s dad and step-mom own and come to a stop in front of the house. Jason and I visited during pilot training a few times. It’s kind of a nifty place. It’s got some animals and an old west town where they’ll arrest you for a fee. 

Jason and I weren’t arrested. Dan’s dad announced the first time we ever met him that all Dan’s fellow pilot classmates could visit the ranch for free, but if we wanted to be arrested, we’d have to pay.

“I’ve got a business to run!” the man boomed.

Seriously, the guy could give Thor a run for his money by how loud he is. The man is short, though, so of course he couldn’t give Thor a total run for his money. Thor is also not a real person.

Bah.

Jason refused to pay to get arrested and held my purse hostage so I couldn’t. 

Tragic, I know.

“Well, we gonna wake him up now?” Jason asks, turning the 4Runner off. 

“I dunno,” I say, turning around in my seat. “He’s kinda cute when he’s sleeping.”

“You think everyone is cute asleep,” Pamela mutters.

“I am awake.”

And Tom’s blue eyes appear and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further and making the front stick up in an utterly adorable way.

Conclusion: Tom is pulchritudinous and unable to look bad.

I hate him like I hate my dog. (When she’s not a barking menace to society and just a furry menace to society.) 

“How long was I asleep?” 

Tom’s voice is slightly rough from sleep and is doing something to Pamela. 

She looks like she wants to die and melt at the same time. 

Interesting. 

“Since we left the apartment,” I report. “Look, Pamela!”

And before anyone can react, I leap out of the car. I look towards the house where Dan’s family lives and find Dan standing on the steps looking mildly confused. (Dan is often puzzled looking so it’s not that strange to find him looking befuddled while simply standing on the steps of his family’s home.)

“Hi!” I say loudly, waving in a large circle at him. “Long time no see!”

I haven’t seen Dan since we left Del Rio almost four years ago. He stayed in Del Rio to be an FAIP. (First Assignment Instructor Pilot. I know what that one stands for.) He’s done with that at the moment, but he’s a future fighter pilot and has to relearn how to fly the trainer fighter pilot plane for some reason, so he’s in San Antonio before he gets to go somewhere nicer.

Yeah.

Dan gets to go to freaking Oregon to train for an ungodly amount of time before going to either Japan or England for his first assignment in his career plane.

I hate him.

I do.

I will be totally haterific if he gets to go to England. I might not ever speak to him again. (I lie. I’ll likely speak to him more just to use him as an excuse to go to England— though, I guess I could use Ben as an excuse. Ben lives there. Right now. And Ben lives where I want to go: London. There are no air bases in London to my knowledge.)

(I should go see Ben! I wonder if I can use Alaska Airlines miles for that? We’ve got a ton from three years of living in Alaska. Did you know, Anchorage is really far away from, well, anything other than other chunks of Alaska, the Yukon and bits of Russia that are really cold?)

“I see you got a new car since leaving Texas.”

Dan knows the 4Runner is a touchy subject with me and I miss my beloved Volvo. I spent almost two hours telling Dan how much I adored my Volvo after we got it. 

Dan remembers EVERYTHING I tell him. It is actually freaky, as I assumed I was the only person who remembered unimportant things. (I do not fool myself that what I tell Dan is important. He has to fly planes. What I tell him should not live on his iceberg.) 

“Don’t even start with me, Daniel,” I scold. “It’s a horrid vehicle.”

“Hey,” Jason greets. 

“Hey.” Dan finally comes down the stairs, looking around. “I thought you were bringing Pamela?”

“We did,” I say, smiling.

Dan gives me a majorly confused look before looking back at Jason who rounds the 4Runner to join us on the side with the house. Jason shrugs deeply, his eyes looking around and taking everything in. It’s like he’s looking for something— change maybe? I doubt Jason would be able to tell if anything changed. Details like that escape Jason. 

“Should I be worried?” Dan asks Jason, eyeing me with distrust.

I grin wider.

“Yeah. She knows famous people now. She’s a nuisance to society,” Jason mocks. 

Dan appears more bewildered than usual, staring at the 4Runner. “Huh?”

The back door opens on my side and a long, lanky leg appears. Tom’s head pops up and Dan’s confusion grows in leaps and bounds. 

“Good morning,” Tom greets smoothly. “Or is it afternoon?”

He shut the door with a resounding thump. 

“It’s afternoon,” Dan says. “Did y’all eat lunch?”

“Yes,” all of us say as the other back door on the 4Runner opens and shuts.

“Good, good. Uh…”

Dan stares at Tom, looking like he’s trying to place him but is unable to achieve this feat.

“Hi. I’m Tom,” Tom greets, giving me a look. 

Oops. I forgot to introduce my guest. 

“I take it you’re Dan. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

Tom grabs Dan’s hand in both of his (which looks tiny dwarfed in Tom’s hands) and shakes it as if it is just the most wonderful thing in the world for Tom to be meeting the future fighter pilot. 

“Yeah. Uh, I’m Dan,” Dan says, looking as if he was hit over the head one too many times. 

“Hi, Daniel,” Pamela says loudly, popping up at Jason’s elbow. “It’s good to see you again. How did Del Rio treat you?”

Tom drops Dan’s hand and begins looking around, his gaze always going back to Pamela before shooting off somewhere else. He looks like a little kid set loose in an amusement park for some reason. He is radiating with glee. 

Dan starts talking to Pamela about Del Rio, the T-6 (the plane he’s been flying the past four years) and they both start talking in technobabble. Jason stares at Tom for a moment before one of the large dogs Dan’s family owns appears at Jason’s knee and demands attention. (Jason is a dog magnet.)

“Y’all are here!” 

I turn towards the front porch to find Dan’s step-mom whose name has left my head since the last time I saw her coming down the stairs. 

She is utterly gorgeous, especially for an older woman. She’s got slivery blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She’s from Sweden, only she didn’t live there long enough to gain any accent. 

Due to my love of accents, I find this tragic.

“Jason, did you get taller?” she asks, eyeing him as he pets the giant dog who comes up to Jason’s waist (the dog is HUGE). 

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says, brushing the fur off of his hands before greeting Dan’s step-mom— who of course hugs him, which is hilarious because she’s tiny and he’s not. Also, Jason doesn’t hug, so when people hug him he looks like he’s being tortured. 

“I think you did,” she teases, greeting Pamela and then myself. “Oh, Door honey, I hear your business is booming!”

“Yeah,” I say, accepting the hug from the woman. “And I brought with me the man who is part of the reason for the explosion of orange in my life.”

I falter for a moment, as I can’t remember her name. I know her last name. I can just use that.

“Mrs Silversmith, I’d like you to meet Tom Hiddleston,” I say, motioning to Tom with a wave of my arm.

“OH!” Dan shouts suddenly. “You’re Loki!”

“Yes, that is one of my better known roles,” Tom says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Silversmith.”

Tom goes on to ooze charm and melts Mrs Silversmith (Oh, call me Ingrid) into a puddle of mush. 

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

The ranch was nice— a little dusty, as it hadn’t rained recently. Dan enjoyed telling tales of when there had been an actual lake on the property as he drove Tom and Pamela around on some sort of backroad golf cart. Pamela was seated next to Dan up front, Tom hanging off the back. 

Shortly after arriving and getting introductions out of the way, Door was dragged off by Ingrid to put a puzzle together.

“I’ve missed my puzzle partner!” Ingrid had exclaimed, somehow bodily dragging Door inside. (Door was a good five inches taller than the other woman.)

Tom had no idea where Jason had gone, but no one seemed bothered by his vanishing act except Pamela who frowned before Dan distracted her by towing her towards the odd looking golf cart exclaiming it was high time Pamela showed up for a tour.

So far, Tom wasn’t sure what Ben and Door disliked about Texas. 

Yes, it was slightly suffering from drought, but a recent rainfall had left it rather green and it appeared that spring was flourishing— for somewhere that was suffering from a three year long drought. 

Granted, it was rather warmer than Tom cared for in April, but it wasn’t all that horrid. Tom had suffered through worse in a three piece suit, so wearing jeans and a t-shirt seemed almost freeing when he remembered much more dastardly conditions.  

“So, uh, how’d you, uh, meet Door?” Dan asked as he stopped the cart in an open field with a few cows, which Tom had been told were called longhorns. 

“Through Pamela,” Tom answered. “Should I be worried the herd of longhorns are approaching?”

“Huh? Oh, no. As long as you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you.” 

Tom nodded. 

Dan began to list facts off on longhorns a mile a minute— just like he had for every kind of animal they’d visited that afternoon. Tom was filing away all sorts of random facts about buffalo, deer and even zebras (Tom wasn’t sure what a ranch in Texas had zebras for, but they had zebras). 

“Thomas, turn around,” Pamela said. 

Tom turned his attention to Pamela. 

She was taking his random appearance rather well. She’d been embarrassed when he first woke up to find her seated next to him, but before they got out of the car she had recovered. He had felt slightly embarrassed to have dozed off when he’d been so excited to actually see her, but Pamela seemed to understand his need for some sleep. 

“You’re really here?” she had asked quietly while Door greeted someone outside and Jason slid out of the car silently. 

“Yes, to see you,” Tom told her honestly.

She looked as if that couldn’t possibly be the case. “Why?”

“We only said goodbye with words,” Tom replied, then smiled. 

“How else does one say goodbye?” Pamela had wondered out loud. 

“Same way I had wanted to say hello today,” Tom cryptically replied, grinning. “But, darling, we ought to get out of the car and greet our hosts. I’m sure there will be time later today to discuss hellos and goodbyes.”

And Tom had gotten out of the car and changed gears into charming guest. 

Tom saw Pamela’s white iPhone and smiled before she could take one of her stealth photos of him without a smile. She grinned at him, aiming and lining the shot up instead. She took her time, watching something on the screen. Tom let the smile fade a little.

“Okay, now put that ridiculous smile on your face.”

Tom wasn’t sure what she meant (he had no ridiculous smile), but he let a goofy one rip across his features (earning him a laugh from Pamela).

“That’s going to Door to do with as she please,” Pamela said.

Tom heard the phone send off a text. 

“Oh?” Tom asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Of course. She can’t always be making a fool out of just Benedict.”

“Benedict?” Dan asked, reminding the two of his presence.

“Cumberbatch?” Pamela asked, sounding slightly confused as she looked over at Dan, who looked just as bewildered.

Then again, the man had looked in some state of confusion since they’d arrived. He didn’t act like he was forever confused, but he looked it. Dan was rather _au fait_ in a wide array of various subjects. 

“ _Sherlock_?” Tom offered. “I’m sure Door’s told you about him.” 

“Holmes? I don’t think she’s mentioned Sherlock Holmes,” Dan said, knitting his eyebrows together. “Wait, was that a show on that PBS thing she is obsessed with?”

“It was.”

“Oh. She knows the actor?” 

“Yeah, she met him at some park near the airport thanks to her idiot dog,” Pamela said, pocketing her iPhone. 

“He’s playing the villain in the upcoming _Star Trek_ movie,” Tom offered. 

Dan shrugged, staring the golf cart back up. “Let’s go see if Kirsten is up to. I bet she knows who this Benedict Cumdurhatch is.”

Pamela looked utterly embarrassed and Tom let out a loud laugh as they drove off away from the heard of longhorn who’d been closing in on their location. 

* * *

Kirsten turned out to be Dan’s step-sister who looked like what the world thought all Swedish women looked like: blue eyed, blonde and super model tall. 

She’d clearly gotten her height from her father.

Kirsten knew exactly who Tom was before Dan opened his mouth. She screamed and hugged Tom for almost fifteen minutes before calming down enough to form words. Tom smiled the whole way through, as he was used to this kind of thing from some of his fans. 

“OMG. I cannot believe Tom Hiddleston is here. At the ranch,” Kirsten gushed once the gift of words had returned.

“Uh, yeah,” Dan said, frowning at his step-sister. “So, uh, I was going to show them the town. Anything on?”

“No,” she said, reaching behind a counter and pulling out a book. “Johnny and Colt are on for sheriff and banker. No one else is scheduled to come in.”

She slammed the book shut and pouted. 

“No one’s come through today except you two,” she mournfully said, eyes linger on Tom for a moment too long. Tom shifted closer to Pamela, putting his hand the small of her back. He opened his mouth to say something, when Kirsten suddenly seemed to _see_ Pamela for the first time. “Wait, if Pamela’s here, that means Jason is here, right?”

Pamela scowled deeply.

“Yeah, Jay’s at the house. Tucker wasn’t interested in letting him escape. Door’s with your mom.”

Kirsten rolled her eyes, tossing her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. “Stupid dog.”

“Tucker is not stupid. I’m going to go find Colt. Maybe…wait, you’re an actor!”

Dan’s whole being lit up.

“Yes,” Tom said slowly, wondering why that mattered all of a sudden. 

“You’re famous!” Kirsten shouted.

The two began shouting things, which made sense to them, but Tom couldn’t make head or tails of what they were saying. They both took off suddenly in two different directions. Pamela groaned, turning and burying her head in Tom’s chest. Tom stared at the top of her head, surprised but pleased with this development. Tom moved his arm from the small of her back to around her waist and encouraged her to move a little closer. 

“I have a feeling a lot more people are about to show up,” Pamela laughed uneasily, shaking her head. 

Dan suddenly reappeared, causing Pamela to look up. Tom kept his arm around her waist. She didn’t move away, surprisingly. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” Dan suddenly asked, not seeming to notice their close proximity or care. “I mean, uh…I mean, I can stop Kirsten from putting out you’re here…but, it might be fun, yeah? This place is always best when filled with people.”

“You must take business opportunities when they present themselves. Ask Door,” Tom easily said. 

If Tom could help business (which looked quite dead) that was worth a little…well, it would be worth putting up with a lot of people. They were nice people, they deserved to have their business pick up. 

“Oh, cool! Hey, would you mind giving us a hand with the tours? Instead of just, well, standing around. I mean, in the summer we have actors and stuff to play roles and we’ve only got Colt and Johnny. I’m sure Colt would let you be sheriff.”

“Oh, well, I guess I could do that. Sounds fun,” Tom allowed and Dan quickly vanished. 

Tom felt Pamela tense up and looked down to find she looked like she wanted to punch Dan. 

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“You didn’t come here to work!”

“I would not call this work,” Tom admitted. 

“They’re blatantly using your fame for their own profit!”

Tom stared at her. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. 

“Isn’t that what Door did?”

“NO! She didn’t know what she was doing when she put that image up, but her sole purpose wasn’t getting more sales, it was to get a laugh. I mean, it’s clear she didn’t expect her business to boom. She’s totally overwhelmed. Did she even clean up the pile of orange leather sitting in the dinning area?”

No, she hadn’t. 

“Hey, put these on,” Kirsten said, holding out a pile of clothing topped with a Stetson. “Colt would rather hang out with the horses. This will be epic. Seriously epic. I can see it now! Oh, Pammy, you can help out if you want too.”

Kirsten grabbed Tom and towed him out the door. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Dorothea_

I love puzzles.

Okay, I fib. I do not love them, but I seem to find myself often doing them for some reason with people’s step-mothers. Maybe it’s a step-mom thing? I don’t know. I don’t have a step-mother, so I wouldn’t really know now would I? Jason’s step-mom loves puzzles, Dan’s step-mom loves puzzles and each time I’ve ever set foot within either one of these women’s homes, I wind up doing puzzles with them. 

It’s not so bad, actually.

Other than I’m so not a puzzle person, but I’m so not a social person and sitting here at the puzzle helps out on the whole awkward silence thing. 

“Would you look at that…we’ve got a line.”

At the sound of Mr Silversmith’s voice (call me Howdy), I look up from the Puzzle of Mind Death I’ve been sitting at for who knows how long. Ingrid lifts her head up from the pile of puzzle pieces she’s sorting through.

“What is it, honey?”

“We’ve been over-run by girls,” Howdy says, sounding rather awed. “I guess I ought to go see if Colt and Kirsten need help with them all.”

Howdy opens the front door and exits. 

I quickly stand and go to the big window next to the dinning room table where I’ve been trying to kill brain cells with an impossible puzzle.

“Oh god,” I breathe.

The place is teaming with females— clearly all part of Hiddleston’s Army.

How did they find him?

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why? What did you do?” Ingrid asks, coming to stand next to me. “Oh, my.”

The place is a zoo.

“I posted a picture on Twitter of Tom and a longhorn with some stupid comment about Loki rules cows. I didn’t think it gave away the location other than Texas and I didn’t say WHERE in Texas he was. It’s a big state!”

I bang my head against the window. 

I am cursed.

I hate the internet and it clearly hates me. At least we’ve got a good working relationship of hate. 

“Oh, honey pie, I doubt you did this. This has Kirsten written all over it. She does this kind of thing all the time. She gets the whole…advertising aspect of the business. I bet she saw an opportunity upon finding out who that handsome man is and went wild.”

Oh, poor Tom. 

What had Kirsten done?

I hurry out of the house and towards the town, fighting my way through the various people who have invaded the usually quiet ranch. 

Once again, I am trying to find Tom Hiddleston. And once again, I seem to be unable to track the taller than average man down. 

I find Pamela before I find Tom (strange, as she’s shorter than the average woman). She’s standing in front of the general store, arms folded across her chest and wearing a rather blank look on her face. 

“What is going on?”

She jumps and looks at me with big eyes. 

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Where’s Tom?”

“He’s with Kirsten.”

Pamela scowls.

“Uh, okay,” I say, wondering why she is scowling. 

I mean, yeah, Kirsten is tall, blonde and gorgeous, but Tom is totally into Pamela. He FLEW to SAN ANTONIO to see HER. Hello! Not gonna get swept off his feet by a Texan-Swedish beauty in cowboy boots. 

“He’s with Kirsten giving tours. He seems to be in his element,” Pamela says, waving a hand at the crowd in front of her. People are milling around, clearly waiting for the next tour to begin. (I don’t know what a tour here actually consists of, as I’ve been given a tour by Dan. Dan isn’t allowed to give tours to the public as he talks too much.)

A tall, lanky looking cowboy catches my eye as he lops into the town square, leaping up onto a box in the center. 

“Well, looky here! Town’s been invaded by pretty, little pieces of calico!”

I think that is Tom, only, he’s got a Texas twang going on. 

“Are y’all here to see our interestin’ town of Never Springs?”

The crowd agrees they are indeed here to see the town of Never Springs— a town put together by Howdy going around Texas and saving fronts of buildings and a few entire buildings. That is Howdy’s life: saving Texas history. 

“Where’d he get that outfit?” I ask, looking over at Pamela, who is trying to keep up her mad act, but it’s failing at seeing Tom in his element. 

“Kirsten,” she says, the scowl appearing for a minute before it vanishes as Tom begins to tell some sort of historical story about something. 

He is seriously in his element here— if his body language is anything to go by. The crowd  in front of him aren’t behaving like stereotypical fangirls as they are completely enraptured by Tom the Small Town Texas Sheriff. 

How the hell he learned all the information about the joint in no time at all is utterly amazing.

Then again, he is Tom Hiddleston. 

“I reckon it’s time we get going. There’s lots of bandits ‘round these parts packing,” Tom announces, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. He eyes the crowd before him, who all do a combination of sigh, gasp and giggle. “We do have a mighty strong jail, though. Made by the finest blacksmith this side of the Mississippi.” 

“Reach for the sky!” 

I jerk around and notice Kirsten pointing a pistol at the crowd, dressed up like a robber. She’s surrounded by several other people wearing bandana’s over their faces and holding fake money bags. 

(Kirsten fancies herself an actress. Makes sense she’d want to playact with Tom Hiddleston.) 

She swings down from her hiding spot and attempts to take the crowd of girls hostage along with her gang, but fails as the entire group is quickly arrested by Tom and handed off to one of his fellow cops. 

I watch Tom lead the group further into town before telling Pamela I’m going to go speak with Kirsten. I amble over to the jail where Kirsten is locked up with a few fan girls, who are still swooning about being arrested by Tom Hiddleston. 

“Door!” Kirsten crows as I enter. “Just the person I wanna see!”

“Oh?” I ask, leaning against the wall and out of the way of the people who are coming in and out. 

“Of course,” she says, bouncing over to me. She pulls the bandana off her face, reveling very white teeth that are bared for some reason at me. “I have an idea.”

Oh, no. 

Kirsten is kind of mental. Her ideas involving me usually end up with me looking like an idiot. Last time, she dressed me up in a way too heavy dress for July, made me stand in the middle of the town square and scream bloody murder.

* * *

It’s almost closing time. The sun is starting to set and the chaos is finally dying down. I’ve spent the past few hours wearing an old fashion dress and being kidnapped by Colt and saved by Tom (he is the hero of this story). 

I had to scream. Tom is impressed by my ability to scream bloody murder, so I will see this as a win and not making a fool out of myself. 

I’m still not too thrilled, though, thus why I’m sitting in the church hiding. I have been since Tom last saved me in front of a few older fans, who all swooned. They distracted him so I could escape. Thus, I love them. 

This was not my idea of a day off. I had this crazy vision of sitting inside, dressed for the weather and doing puzzles that caused brain discombobulation. I did not imagine wearing a calico dress and a bonnet and being kidnapped by Colt. I’ve been tied to a tree, tied to the bank vault (which is real, don’t get locked in there or you might not come out, as they don’t know the combo), tied to the barn, and simply just tied up and shoved in a cupboard once. 

Even being saved by Tom Hiddleston couldn’t make me smile after that last one. The cupboard smelled of something I couldn’t place. 

“There you are,” comes a British accent.

Oh, how I missed that accent for the past few hours. 

“Here I am,” I quip as Tom ambles over, sitting down next to me in the pew. “Sorry about this.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tom lies. 

He clearly cannot be fine with having his day off taken over by his fans and Kirsten’s insane ideas at fun. 

“It was kind of fun. And I got to connect with a lot of fans,” he says, smiling serenely. He stretches out his arms on the back of the pew and sighs. “Though, I did not get to see Pamela as often as I’d like. Where’d she go?”

“Last I saw her she was glowering in the town square,” I report.

“She’s moved on,” Tom sighs, his head falling back. For a moment I witness how exhausted the man is as he lets his guard down. 

I feel so damn guilty. I think I’d apologize, but I don’t think he’d accept it. He’d tell me it is not my fault for dragging him out to Boerne. 

Technically, it’s Jason’s fault as it was his idea to take Dan up on his invitation AFTER I told him Tom Hiddleston was coming to visit Pamela for the weekend. 

“Please tell me they are feeing us dinner at some point,” I moan, my stomach making a loud noise. 

Tom chuckles, pulling his head up so he can look at me. “I believe Ingrid told me they were making steaks for us all. Where is your husband?”

“Hiding with the dogs?”

“He loves dogs, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he’ll deny it if you ask him,” I say. “He didn’t even want to get a dog. I had to talk him into it.”

Tom chuckles. “I hate your dog by the way.”

“I hate her too! Maybe we ought to form a Basil hating club? We can call it something like Anti-Barkapotumus Club. Or, Club for Those Who Miss Their Hearing. OH! The Anti-Barking Menace League,” I suggest, waving my hands around as I think up suggestions. Tom’s eyes latch onto my wrist for some reason. “Okay, I don’t know. And I don’t always hate her, but I don’t think she likes me at all. She loves Jason.”

“What is that bracelet?” Tom asks, reaching forward and grabbing my wrist. He flips over the upside down bracelet, revealing the charm. “You have a medical condition?”

I snort. “I do, but that’s not what that is. Look closer.”

Tom peers at the bracelet— which is a simple silver bracelet from the World War Two era. Or at least the charm in the center of it is from then. I never did research to see if the rest of it comes from that era. I know the clasp doesn’t, as since I’ve had it, it broke and I had it replaced.

“I’m at a loss. What is it?”

“Well, these are wings,” I explain, allowing Tom to keep hold of my wrist as he studies the bracelet. “The center— the body? It’s a propeller. Like for a plane.”

“Ah,” Tom says.

“It’s a Pilot Sweetheart bracelet. They had them in World War Two,” I say. “Pilots gave them to their girls when they went off to war or something. Jason found it in an antique shop. He got it for me for our first Valentine’s Day.”

And I gave him some socks. 

He did need socks. He never buys them for himself. 

“That is rather sweet,” Tom says, looking up. 

He’s got this crazy look in his eyes that kind of melts my insides. It’s not even directed at me, as I know he’s not thinking about the fact Jason is adorable and is so happy I’m so damn lucky.

No, Tom Hiddleston is thinking about Pamela Fitch.

And he is utterly illecebrous. 

I know Tom’s attractive. I’ve known that on some level since I first saw him on TV, but now…I kind of get the mania around him now. I didn’t really before, as most of what people pay attention to is simply his outside when his insides and talent is what I’ve always enjoyed. (Oh god, that is kind of gross. His insides? Seriously, Door?) 

I get it now, though. I have witnessed IT in person. I can understand how people fall for him left and right because he is a danger.

Tom Hiddleston is dangerous.

He drops my wrist, pulls out his cell phone, and begin to type into the screen. 

“Shall we head to the house? I hear there is beer and crisps for all!”

He stands up, still looking at his cell phone and vanishes. 

Ben isn’t dangerous. 

Benedict Cumberbatch is somewhat a troublemaker on screen, but Ben himself isn’t a danger. Ben is a huge dork and I adore him, but Tom Hiddleston is noisome. He’s a demagogue on the screen and in person. 

I wonder if that’s why Pamela freaked out in London? Not because she was in the presence of Tom Hiddleston, but she realized the guy was kind of a danger to her heart, sanity and perception of other human beings? 

It is impossibly easy to understand if he EVER looks like he just did in front of people that they’d all fall madly in love with him. 

Oh, what the hell am I talking (thinking) about? For all I know he only looks like that because he’s into Pamela?

He’s never looked like that before to me and I’ve seen EVERYTHING he’s done. 

I think I’m too tired to figure out what the hell is going on with me. 

And I need food.

Feed me.

* * *

_Edited and reloaded 19 August 2013_

 


End file.
